After Torture

 After torture, everything seems to be bliss;
So I drown myself in pleasures missed,
Thinking the chamber no longer my home
I retire to heal my shattered bones.

Where am I now, and what do I do?
The answer might seem obvious to you;
But the fact is that lately, in so much confusion,
I've lost my sense of truth and illusion.

Drabness can seem a kind of salvation
In absence of more acute fluctuations;
I float and I sink, without much complaint,
In quest for a state with no painful restraints.

Well, they drained me of juice, they drained me of freedom,
They mocked my ideas like I didn't need 'em,
And the nearly dried shell of a man thus fell
In the depths of a world of his own private hell.

But now this man shall rise and live again;
Wiser indeed from this old school of pain,
The chains that used to bind me are gone
And I'm left to heal and to sing my song.